


What's In A Name?

by XxmerthurcatxX



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Soft Geralt, but like, jaskier hates his nickname, only for jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:55:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22285216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XxmerthurcatxX/pseuds/XxmerthurcatxX
Summary: Five times Jaskier hated his nickname and one time he decided it wasn't so bad.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 27
Kudos: 1450





	What's In A Name?

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I found out recently that pink dandelions are a thing and they're so pretty. Yellow in the middle and pink around the edges. If you haven't seen them, I highly recommend looking them up. 
> 
> 2\. Yes, I know that I write Geralt soft. I'm a sucker for the grumpy sullen one being soft only for their love interest.
> 
> 3\. I know that Jaskier is a polish name that translates to Buttercup (i think? some say dandelion some say buttercup, not sure which is correct) so he's already named after a flower, but for the sake of this fic, it's fiiiine lol

1.

Jaskier watched as his little sister and her friend from down the lane ran about their yard, giggling and collecting flowers to make crowns. 

“Poppy, I think you’ve got enough,” Jaskier said, already thinking of the lecture he was going to get from his mother for letting Poppy and Fen pick half of her flower garden. 

His sister turned to him with an exaggerated pout on her face. 

“But we want to make one for you too,” she said. 

Jaskier arched a brow at her, looking pointedly at the boat load of flowers in her arms. It was more than enough for three crowns, if not more. Normally he was no match for Poppy’s big weepy doe eyes, but he didn’t want to risk his mother’s wrath, so he shook his head and gestured for the girls to come sit. 

“You’re no fun,” Poppy said, but did as she was told anyway, Fen skipping over after her. 

“I am plenty of fun, thank you very much,” Jaskier said indignantly, picking up his lute from where he had set it in the grass. It was his prized possession, second hand and a little run down though it may be. His mother had given it to him for his eighth birthday and he’d been steadily teaching himself how to play. 

“Oh no, not the lute,” his sister whined, Fen hiding a giggle as she began to chain flowers together. 

“What’s wrong with my lute?” Jaskier asked. 

Poppy rolled her eyes. 

“You always play mopey songs! Why can’t you play something happy?”

“I’m a musician, Pops. It’s my right to be maudlin. Art comes from pain afterall,” Jaskier said, with far too much confidence for a thirteen year old. His greatest pain was that Moira Hepsky did not return his affections, having thrown the rose he’d given her back in his face. For the aspiring bard it was enough material for more depressing songs than his sister cared for. 

“Play the fishmonger song!” Poppy said. 

Jaskier laughed, shaking his head. 

“You’re too young for that song. Do you remember how cross mother was when she caught me playing it for you? Never again, Pops, never again,” he said seriously, but he took pity on his sister and her friend and strummed some happier chords. 

He was humming idly, trying to think of a rhyme for “orange” when a crown of dandelions was placed haphazardly onto his head by a blushing Fen. Jaskier was about to thank her when a group of boys, who had been known to give him a hard time on occasion, passed by, pausing to sneer at him. 

“Nice flower crown, what are you, a  _ girl _ ?” One of them called, a cruel grimace on his face. 

Tobin, the leader of the group, stepped forward. 

“We ought to call you, _Dandelion_ from now on,” he teased. 

Jaskier’s face was red with shame and he was about to rip the crown from his head when he noticed Fen’s bottom lip trembling. He sighed, choosing instead to adjust the crown so it rested better atop his head, and glaring at the boys. 

“I’ll have you know it was a gift and I wear it with pride,” he said, covering up his embarrassment with false bravado. 

The boys laughed, Tobin going so far as to pick up a handful of mud and throw it at Jaskier, getting it all down the front of his shirt. 

“Whatever,  _ Dandelion _ ,” he jeered, before gesturing to his crew that it was time to move on and terrorize someone else. 

Jaskier sighed, wiping at the mud on his shirt. He paused when a small hand covered his, looking up at Fen whose eyes were wet with unshed tears. 

“I-I’m sorry, Jaskier. It’s my fault they made fun of you,” she said miserably. 

Jaskier smiled, ruffling her hair. 

“It’s  _ their  _ fault they made fun of me, not yours. They’re the ones who don’t know how to behave like civilized people,” he said, touching the crown. “Besides, yellow has always been my favorite color.” 

Fen beamed at him and so did Poppy as she scooched closer to sit by his knee. 

“You could play that one about the roses. If you want to,” she offered. 

Poppy knew that inside, Jaskier was hurt by the boys taunts. That he was worried the nickname would follow him around as long as he stayed in the small town of Pepperwood. She gave his hand a squeeze and, despite his apprehension, he felt a little better. 

Jaskier smiled, took a breath, and began to play.

  
  


2\. 

Leaving Pepperwood behind was a harder decision than Jaskier intended but now, several years later, he knew it was the right choice. He missed his mother and his sister dearly, but he wanted-- _ needed _ \--to make something of himself. He was never going to become a world famous bard if he stayed in his hometown forever. 

_ For tis not, but bad luck _

_ To fuck with a puck! _

Jaskier sang, grinning at the joyous laughter he received from the pub patrons as they clapped along with him. 

_ Lest your grandkid be born _

_ A hairy young faun _

_ Bleating and braying all day, hey ho _ !

He took an exaggerated bow as he finished, frowning when all the patrons threw to him was bits of bread. Usually there was a coin or two mixed in and, while he was thankful to have something to eat, he was more than a little worried about how utterly broke he was. 

“Dandelion? Is that you?” 

Jaskier paused in pocketing the bread, glancing up to see a familiar face from his childhood. Tobin. He was grinning, looking mean as ever, a busty woman on his arm and a mug of ale in his hand. 

“Nobody calls me that anymore,” Jaskier said, voice steady despite the shaking of his hands. 

Tobin threw his head back and laughed. 

“Only because they’ve never heard it. Oy! Patrons of this fine establishment! Let’s have one more round of applause for good ol' Dandelion here!” Tobin cried and, much to Jaskier’s horror, the pub erupted in a fit of drunken laughter and applause, the patrons chanting the dreaded nickname until they were red faced with exertion. 

Jaskier was tempted to excuse himself before things got worse, when he spotted a shock of silver hair sitting in the corner. The one man in the whole pub who was paying him no mind. Ordinarily, he would be put out that someone had ignored his performance, but at the moment he was grateful. He tuned out Tobin’s drunken rambling, eyes going wide with recognition as he realized why the man looked so familiar. A witcher. And not just any witcher. The Butcher of Blaviken himself, right here in Posada. Interesting. 

“Wonderful to see you, Tobin,” Jaskier said sarcastically, snagging a mug of ale from a serving girl who passed him and making his way across the pub. 

The witcher spared him a glance as he moved closer before turning back to his mug of ale, looking as if he hoped Jaskier would leave. But Jaskier had a feeling this man might be the key to his future success. His chance at a real adventure and some much needed new material, and so he stayed where he was. 

“I love the way you just, sit in the corner and brood.”

3\. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier cried excitedly as he slid into the booth across from the other man. “You’ll never guess what’s happened!”

Geralt grunted, but showed zero interest in Jaskier’s news, which rude, but the bard was over the moon and he couldn’t care less about the witcher’s attitude at the moment. 

“I’ve got a letter from Aedirn! Aedirn Geralt! They must be asking me to play at a party!” he said, ripping open the letter to read its contents. “Oh gods, this is it. I’m going to be famous. The King has requested the presence of the bard, Dande--

Jaskier cut off, staring at the name written neatly on the parchment. So the nickname had reached as far as Aedirn. Ever since that day in the pub back in Posada it had spread, a patron here or there asking if he was that bard, Dandelion. He was always quick to correct them, eager for the name to be forgotten because he was gaining in popularity and he wanted to be known by his true name, not some silly name he’d been given as a child. 

He must have been quiet for too long because Geralt was snatching the letter from his hand to see what had made him freeze up. 

“Dandelion?” Geralt asked, arching a curious brow. Jaskier groaned, letting his head fall forward to drop onto the table with a loud thud. Of course the witcher chose this moment to suddenly become interested in any personal details about Jaskier’s life. 

“It’s not a story I want to share,” Jaskier said miserably, tossing a coin onto the table getting to his feet. “Y-your drink is on me. I’m...I’m going to retire.”

Jaskier would be lying if he said it didn’t hurt a little when Geralt didn’t follow him to make sure he was okay. Then again, it wasn’t the witcher’s way. 

4.

Jaskier ducked as an arrow flew past his head, staying low to the ground and out of the way of the bandits. It always baffled him when he followed Geralt on monster hunts, only to end up finding more trouble from humans than whatever the creature was. A familiar swoop or dark hair caught Jaskier’s eye. Oh hell. 

When the bandits were dispatched, Jaskier got to his feet and made his way to Geralt’s side, glaring at a much too familiar witch. 

“Thank you for your assistance,” Yennefer said, eyes trained on Geralt as she ignore Jaskier completely. “But I had it under control.”

Geralt huffed a laugh. 

“Yes, I could see that from the way the man was about to plunge a dagger into your chest,” he said sarcastically. 

Yennefer smiled. 

“It’s been too long, Witcher,” she said, a look of lust in her eye that made Jaskier’s stomach twist. Beautiful though she was, the witch never stuck around long, and Jaskier was sick of her leaving sending Geralt into more of a foul mood than usual. 

“Not long enough,” Jaskier muttered, though apparently he’d not been quiet enough for her not to hear. 

Yennefer finally deigned to look at the bard, a bored expression on her face. 

“Good to see you too,  _ Dandelion _ .” 

Jaskier bristled. It didn’t matter how many times he heard it. The second anyone called him Dandelion, he was a lonely thirteen year old boy again, playing sad songs and hoping to be noticed by someone. Before he could respond, Geralt stepped between the bard and the witch. 

“That’s enough, Yen. Now that you’re out of trouble, we’ll be on our way,” Geralt said. If Jaskier didn’t know any better, he’d think Geralt sounded...protective of him.

Yennefer’s eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly schooled her expression and nodded. 

“I’m sure I’ll see you again. Since I haven’t yet found a way out of the foolish wish you made,” she said, waving her hand to open a portal and stepping through it without a goodbye. 

Jaskier warily followed Geralt back to where they had left Roach. Ever since that day on the mountain, when Geralt had blamed Jaskier for all his misfortunes, things had been different between them. Jaskier had, mortifyingly, broken down in tears and the witcher, unsure of what to do, stumbled out a ridiculous attempt at an apology that had Jaskier laughing by the end of it. Once Geralt realized that his words had more of an impact on the bard than he thought, he’d been almost cautious. It made Jaskier’s chest hurt as he tried to snuff out any glimmer of hope that the witcher might have some sort of feelings for him. 

The bard adjusted his boots, readying himself for the long walk ahead of him, flinching when Geralt took hold of his hand and hoisted him up onto Roach to ride behind him. 

“Geralt, what--

“It’s a long way to Cintra,” Geralt grunted, by way of explanation. 

Jaskier said nothing. Who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth?

5.

“Master Dandelion!” Queen Calanthe called, already more than a little tipsy.

Jaskier’s smile was tense, but he knew better than to correct a Queen. Especially this Queen in particular. She looked as fierce in a gown as she did in her battle armor and he wasn’t ashamed to admit he was a bit scared of her. 

“Yes, your majesty?” 

“Play something! A jig! I do believe I’d like to take this witcher of yours for a spin,” the Queen said, grabbing Geralt by the hand and attempting to drag him to the dance floor. Ah, she must be drunker than Jaskier thought. He giggled at the look on Geralt’s face, stealing his expression when the witcher shot him a glare. 

As Jaskier started to play, he couldn’t help but let his eyes drift to Geralt and the Queen. Geralt wasn’t exactly light on his feet, but he moved well enough, indulging the Queen. Smart man, Jaskier thought. 

When the song finished, the Queen was laughing with glee and even Geralt almost cracked a smile as he helped her back to her seat so she didn’t trip over her own feet. Jaskier was about to ask what she would like to hear next when a hand squeezed his ass, making him jump as he let out a surprised squeak. 

A lord, one he didn’t recognize, leered at him. 

“Always wondered, Dandelion, do you ride your witcher’s cock?” he asked crudely, eyes sweeping Jaskier’s frame up and down. “Ya look to me like you’re made for it.” 

Jaskier gaped at him. It was no secret that he’d been known to be a bit promiscuous from time to time, but he had standards. Either he needed to be wooed or he was the one doing the wooing. The vulgarity of the Lord’s words left him feeling uncomfortable, as did the hand that had once again found its way to his ass. 

“If he did ride my cock, you’d be losing that hand right about now.” 

Jaskier turned to see Geralt standing at his shoulder, fixing the Lord with a look that would make even a Kikimore shrivel. 

The Lord sneered, but let go of the bard. 

“Who’d want to fuck a man named  _ Dandelion _ anyway,” he muttered, stalking back to his table. 

Jaskier swallowed hard, his throat suddenly feeling tight. 

“Are you alright?” Geralt asked, concern etched across his features. 

“Yes,” Jaskier said, though he knew it wasn’t very convincing. “I-I don’t feel much like playing anymore.”

Geralt nodded, leaning down to whisper in the bard’s ear. 

“Play along and don’t talk,” he muttered, and before Jaskier could ask what he was talking about, Geralt had hefted him over his shoulder and was making his way over to the Queen. 

“Your majesty,” Geralt began, waiting until the Queen turned her glassy eyes at him, face rosy from the alcohol. “I believe the bard has had too much to drink. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll take him back to his rooms now.” 

The Queen laughed, nodding and giving a wave of her hand. 

“Of course, witcher, of course! Take care of your companion! He may collect his coin in the morning after he’s slept this night off!” she said, turning back to speak to her daughter, the conversation clearly over. 

Geralt carried Jaskier all the way back to his room before he set him on his feet. And if the bard was red in the face when Geralt touched his cheek before leaving him for the night, then he would blame in on the Cintran Ale. 

  
  


XXXXXX

Jaskier woke up slowly, squinting at the bright light that was streaming in through the windows. He’d slept quite soundly, considering the party going on down the hall. He slid out of bed, tugging on his chemise and pants, pausing in doing up the buttons when he saw what was sitting atop the desk in the corner. 

Dandelions. 

_ Pink _ Dandelions. 

Just like the ones his mother used to grow. Pink with a yellow center.

A whole vase of them. 

Despite the feeling of pleasant nostalgia that swept over him, he was angry. Angry about the nickname that had persistently followed him his entire life. Angry that someone had the audacity to place these fucking flowers in his room. Angry that--

His angry inner tirade was cut off when Geralt entered his rooms, a frown on his face. 

“You didn’t lock your door. How many times have I told you to--

“Who cares about the door!” Jaskier yelled, years of holding in his feelings finally catching up to him. “Look at these! Someone send me dandelions! Will I never be free from this cursed name!” he cried, and yes it was dramatic, but he was a bard and it was his right to be hyperbolic. 

“I thought when I left Pepperwood it would be over. That no one would ever call me that again! Make fun of me or call me a girl, but that bastard Tobin just had to go and let it slip at that pub in Posada,” Jaskier was on a tear, pacing back and forth. “I bet it was that Lord. The one who said no one would want to fuck a man named Dandelion. Oh that piece of shit, he--

Jaskier cut off abruptly when he was finally facing Geralt. The witcher seemed very fascinated with the floor, eyes trained on a hole in one of the floorboards. He looked uncomfortable, nervous and...hurt. Jaskier’s eyes widened in understanding. 

“Geralt...Did you...are these from you?” he asked. 

The witcher hummed, which wasn’t exactly an affirmative, but Jaskier had been traveling him long enough to understand. Yes. Yes they were from him. And how Jaskier needed to know--

“Why?” he asked, taking a step toward Geralt. 

Geralt huffed. 

“You mentioned once, after one too many mugs of ale that your mother used to grow them. I thought...after last night it might make you feel better about being called--

“You wanted me to feel better?” Jaskier asked, unable to keep the smile from his voice as he moved into the witcher’s space, touching his cheek the same as Geralt had done to him last night. 

Geralt finally met his eye, expression carefully guarded like it always was. Jaskier’s heart was beating fast and he knew the witcher could hear it with his heightened senses, must be able to smell the nervous excitement radiating off of him. He licked his lips, his hands resting on Geralt’s chest. The witcher was tall, tall enough that Jaskier would have to go on his tiptoes to kiss him. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt warned, his breath fanning out over the bard’s lips. 

“If this isn’t want you want, I’ll stop,” Jaskier murmured. 

Geralt hummed, low in the back of his throat as he hands came to rest on Jaskier’s hips, dragging him in and kissing him soundly. The bard had always expected their first kiss to be frantic and desperate, mostly because he assumed he would have to be drunk off his ass to ever have the courage to finally make a move. But this kiss...this kiss was slow and deep, Geralt’s big hands warm where they were pressed against his back, his tongue diving into the bard’s mouth, chasing the taste of him. 

“ _ Geralt _ ,” he whined, gasping when the witcher’s hands found his ass, his mouth on his neck. Jaskier wound his fingers into Geralt’s hair, dragging them along his scalp, before gripping hard, making the other man moan. 

Geralt pulled back, holding Jaskier’s face in his hands, their foreheads together as they caught their breath. 

“Your pants are undone,” Geralt mused. 

Jaskier huffed a laugh. 

“I got distracted by the flowers while I was getting dressed,” he explained. 

“Mmm,” Geralt hummed, fingers gripping the waistband of his pants. “May I?” he asked. 

Jaskier nodded, breath catching when Geralt slipped his hand into his pants, fingers curling around his dick. He pressed into the touch, wanton sounds that he should be embarrassed about slipping past his lips. Geralt kissed his ear, making a pleased noise himself. 

“Gods, the way you sound,” Geralt groaned. 

He sped up his strokes, Jaskier already dangerously close to the edge, reached down to catch his wrist. 

“W-wait,” he pleaded. “You too. W-wanna touch you.” 

Geralt nodded, grunting when Jaskier tugged at the laces of his pants until the were loose enough for him to snake his hand beneath the hem. Before he got very far, Geralt lifted him off his feet and threw him onto the bed, laying himself over the bard so that they could thrust against each other. 

“O-oh, this--this is going to be over v-very quickly,” Jaskier confessed with a giggle. 

If anything the comment seemed to spur Geralt along, his hips moving faster, his own breath hitching when Jaskier’s fingers once again found their way into his hair, pulling hard. 

“Don’t stop,” Jaskier begged, one of his hands snaking down to grab a handful of Geralt’s ass, eyes going wide when Geralt moaned long and low in his ear and oh, okay, Geralt was coming, that’s what Geralt sounded like when he came, oh gods. That sound alone was enough to tip Jaskier over the edge as well, body jerking once, twice, three times before he relaxed boneless against the pillows. 

He’d barely gotten his breath back when Geralt was pushing himself up and yanking his shirt off over his head before reaching for Jaskier’s as well. 

“W-what are you doing?” the bard asked. 

Geralt’s eyes were hungry, still blown wide with lust when they met Jaskier’s. 

“I’m not finished with you yet.” 

+1

Later, when Jaskier was truly spent after what could only be described as some incredibly athletic sex, he thought about his nickname. Wondered if, had he never gotten the name in the first place, he and Geralt would have ended up here. After all, without the flowers, Jaskier might never have learned of the witcher’s feelings considering he kept them safely under lock and key. 

He glanced down at the sleeping witcher, curled into his side with an arm and a leg slung over him. Sliding his fingers through his hair, he smiled when Geralt snuggled closer. 

“Mmph,” he snuffled in his sleep. “ _ Dandelion _ ,” he murmured, face tucked into the curve of Jaskier’s neck, snoring softly.

Jaskier smiled, closing his eyes. 

Maybe it wasn’t the worst nickname after all. 


End file.
